


Kidnapped

by Melisande



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-04
Updated: 2010-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melisande/pseuds/Melisande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kidnapped

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Alisanne for the beta and cheerleading and for being my first slash friend. We discovered Clex together and whoa, was that ever fun. This story was posted at SSA 9/25/04.

  
Lex sat in his office on the eighty-ninth floor of LexCorp Tower, staring at the front page of the evening edition of the Daily Planet. He buzzed his assistant.

"Hold everything, Charity," he ordered. "I'm not to be disturbed." Because he was already about as disturbed as it gets.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

He rose and went to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a shot of Scotch, and sauntered back to his desk. The full color picture stared up at him. He stared back. With that annoying tendency of inanimate objects to fail to respond to his displeasure, the picture didn't change. It was still Clark. Floating in the air, wearing a ridiculous costume in the worst possible taste. Though he had to admit, studying the image closely, that the outfit did have its points. Namely, spandex. Clark's dark curls were slicked back and his eyes appeared to be blue instead of the beautiful, changeable hazel that Lex knew them to be, but it was Clark. He'd know him anywhere. Especially, he often thought, in a dark room. Clark was Superman!

Lex had read other news stories about Superman, of course. Every literate citizen of Metropolis knew about the flying savior, but this was the first picture. He'd read the stories with interest. Superman had the potential to become annoying if the flying Boy Scout ever thought to look into some of Lex's more covert activities. He thought back on what he knew about Superman. Protector of the weak, check. Appears from nowhere in times of crisis, check. Asks nothing in return, check. Has powers beyond those of mortal men, check. He was surprised he hadn't put it together earlier. Of course Clark was Superman. He downed his Scotch, put on his suitcoat, grabbed the Planet and walked out of his office.

"Good night, Charity," he said, stopping at her desk. "I won't be in tomorrow. Take the day off."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "Would you like me to call Wu's for you? You can pick it up on your way home, or I can ask them to deliver."

Food, at a time like this!

"You have to eat, sir. It'll be ready by the time you get there."

"Thank you, Charity," he said, choosing not to argue the point. Besides, Wu's made fabulous salt and pepper shrimp. "The usual, then."

~

Lex leaned back in his Italian leather ergonomic massage recliner gazing at the journalistically inferior Daily Planet. A glass of Scotch was in the drink holder, paper cartons of food littered the glass coffee table, and he'd kicked off his shoes and taken off his tie. He was not relaxed. Thinking about Clark was not conducive to relaxation. He hadn't seen Clark in person for five years, not since Clark's high school graduation. Lex had left Smallville when Clark did, settling in Metropolis nominally but in fact travelling to London and Hong Kong for extended periods. They'd kept in touch via e-mail for several months, then not. He'd been busy. And if Clark wasn't going to come clean about his obvious secrets, then Lex wasn't going to take the time. He'd already been pathetic enough, following Clark around Smallville with his tongue hanging out. He wasn't about to follow him around Metropolis. And Clark could have made more of an effort. Would have, if he cared. Obviously, he didn't. And when Clark came out, did he call Lex? No, he didn't. Lex had to learn of it by reading in the Met U paper that Clark Kent was president of the Gay/Lesbian/Transgender/Bisexual Union. He sometimes wondered which category Clark fit into. Whichever it was, Clark obviously wasn't interested in him. Fine. He'd just gone on with his very full life.

And now, Clark was Superman. Lex tried to remember if he'd ever talked about Nietzsche with Clark. Probably. They'd talked about everything else. He looked at the picture some more, carefully holding his chopsticks away from it. In all the recent pictures he had Clark was wearing an offensively ill-fitting suit. It had been impossible to discern his body. Lex liked this picture much better. Clark looked good in spandex. He'd filled out, which Lex wouldn't have believed possible, because Clark at 16 had looked like a 26 year old. But now, looking closely, very closely, Lex could see that Clark's utterly magnificent body had knitted together to form a perfect whole. He selected a shrimp and licked it to savor the salt and pepperiness before sucking it into his mouth.

He should probably compare this picture to another one of Clark. To make sure. He got up and, carrying the newspaper, went to his bedroom. Going to the bookshelf, he pulled the copy of "Fire From Heaven" from the shelf and punched in the code. The bookshelf turned, revealing his Clark Collection. He pulled "The High School Years Vol. II" out and sank to the floor, sitting cross legged with the scrapbook resting on his knees. There was Clark at a Fourth of July picnic, dressed in cut-off jeans and a red t-shirt, aiming his thousand-watt smile directly at the camera. Lex had taken the picture. He stroked it gently with his fingertip. He remembered that day, just as he remembered every day with Clark. Whenever he began to regret his unprecedented and unrepeated self-restraint when he was in Smallville, he had only to look at one of his pictures. Clark had been too young, too innocent, and Lex had had too much power - rich, big city sophisticate, employer of half the town, provider of pool tables and Ferraris. And Clark had looked up to him so much. It wouldn't have been right. Though that had never stopped him before Smallville.

He looked again at the newspaper photo. Still Clark, still heart-breakingly beautiful, but grown up now. Not too young, not innocent. And as powerful as Lex in his own way. Lex gazed at him, feeling the stirring of destiny.

There were plans to be made, but not tonight. He'd get a fresh start in the morning. He put the scrapbook back in its place and took out one of the flannel shirts that he had obtained at great personal inconvenience from the Kents' wash line. He didn't sleep in one of them every night. That would have been obsessive. Only on Christmas, his birthday, and four other days a year to be selected by himself. Tonight was one. He took a quick shower, donned the shirt, and went to bed.

~

Morning found him sitting at the kitchen table eating leftover Chinese food from the cartons and making notes on a yellow legal pad. His fourth wife had objected to his fondness for cold leftovers for breakfast. She'd said it was common. She just hadn't gotten it - Lex Luthor did whatever he wanted to. Sesame eggplant for breakfast was the least of it. That marriage had been a mistake. He'd preferred his fifth wife, Odete, who had been genuinely hot for his body as well as his money. But in the end that hadn't been enough, and he'd decided that since no one loved him for himself, he'd just swear off marriage. He dated a lot, men and women both. He was tired of it, and was contemplating swearing off sex. It hardly seemed worth the time and effort. He had a business to run, and his plans for world domination were shaping up nicely. And of course he had his hobby.

He looked over his notes. He'd known as soon as he saw Clark as Superman that he was going to arrange a meeting. It was time. But what kind of meeting? Nothing could top their first meeting, Clark's mouth bringing him back to life, but he wanted something dramatic and powerful, something that would get Clark's attention and give them something to talk about during those awkward first minutes. Taking Clark's proclivities, and his own, into account, he'd decided that having Clark rescue him from dire peril was the most sensible thing to do. But what dire peril? Drowning? No, they'd done that. A bomb? He'd worked out a plan to plant a bomb under his chair, but decided it was too dangerous. After considering airplane engine failure, sharks, and a sniper, he'd decided on kidnapping for ransom. It was simple, elegant, and classic. He checked his list. Have wine cellar at Smallville mansion prepared. He'd bring over non-English speaking employees from the Hong Kong branch to install a bathroom and some basic comforts. He'd sneak them into Smallville at dead of night. Arrange schedule. That was more difficult. He'd have to plan on being out of commission for as much as a week. He'd begin on that later today. Tell Hope and Mercy - not the entire plan, but they had to know where he was. They'd tear Metropolis apart looking for him if he didn't tell them. And they could lock him into the wine cellar and drive the car away. Again, while Smallville slept. Write ransom note, send to media, kidnap self, and voila! He drained his tea and stood. There was work to be done.

~

He went about his usual business while the plan was put into action. One company was taken over, another spun off, and a lawsuit was filed against a competitor. He worked late into the night for several days, trying to get ahead so that he could kidnap himself without damaging LexCorp. He made up an out-of-town meeting because it would be easier to stage the snatch if he wasn't in Metropolis. Also, it gave him an excuse to have a suitcase with him. He was not about to wear the same clothes for several days, especially since Clark would be rescuing him. He had to be fresh for that. He packed carefully, remembering to take a gray sweater that Clark had once admired.

~

Lex lounged in his wine cellar/dungeon sipping a Silver Oak Cabernet as he watched the evening news. He was the lead story, of course, as he had been for two days now. They were showing a clip from the opening of the Lillian Luthor Memorial Women's Center. The Lex onscreen was being interviewed by a reporter, flirting with her as he answered her inane questions. He looked good in an understated gray Armani suit with a lavender shirt and tie. Lex wondered if Clark was watching. All the world now knew that Lex Luthor was being held hostage by crazed fanatics who threatened to blow him up in his undisclosed (but hinted at) location if they weren't given a billion dollars in unmarked bills by five o'clock tomorrow evening. Ah, this was what he'd been waiting for. They'd managed to track his father down in Brazil.

"So, Mr. Luthor, you aren't willing to pay the kidnappers? You know that LexCorp says Mr. Luthor had always said not to deal with hostage takers, and they're obeying him," the young, blonde, telegenic reporter said, then held the microphone in front of Lionel.

"That is correct," he purred. "Luthors do not deal with thugs." Right. "I am happy to know that my son is following this tradition. I will never pay a ransom."

"Thanks, Dad, I knew I could count on you," Lex whispered to the television. It hurt a little all the same. Hadn't he been merciful, sending Lionel into permanent exile when he could have had him put in prison for the rest of his life? And the charge would have been the attempted murder of one Lex Luthor. Oh, well, some things never changed. If Lionel had by some miracle displayed a shred of humanity by paying the ransom, it would have fucked up his plan.

He reviewed the plan. The kidnapping from a desolate Kansas highway had gone perfectly. Mercy and Hope had settled him into the wine cellar (dungeon, he reminded himself), then departed stealthily in the silent Mercedes. The media had, as predicted, gone wild. Hope and Mercy were obviously stopping anyone at LexCorp from even thinking about paying the ransom. He felt a little bad about Charity, though. She'd been interviewed, weeping, telling the nosy reporter about the time he'd thrown a birthday party for her five-year old son. He'd give her a bonus when he got back. Give the kid an elephant, like he'd asked for.

So, where was Clark? Was his _impending death_ not urgent enough? Did Clark have kittens to rescue or something? Had he not figured out where Lex was, was he waiting until the last minute so he could make a dramatic rescue, did he not care? It would be monumentally embarrassing if after all this effort Clark didn't save him. On the other hand, he could get closure. God, closure. He'd been watching too much TV. Not much else to do here in his dungeon, since he'd decided his kidnappers wouldn't have allowed him to keep his laptop. All right, there wasn't anything he could do right now, and Lost was starting.

~

Hot water poured down gloriously. The workmen had done a superb job. He'd have to give them a bonus. A bonus would go far on the isolated island where they were now permanent residents. Today was the day. Either Clark rescued him, or he stepped up his research on the chronosynactic accelerator. They had a destiny, dammit, and he would make it happen one way or another.

Suddenly the shower curtain was torn aside.

Clark. Oh, fuck. This wasn't the plan. He was supposed to be dressed, not wet and naked. That part of the plan was scheduled for later, after they'd gone on a few dates and he'd had time to seduce Clark. He gaped at his old friend, not too stunned to check him out thoroughly. God, he was beautiful. Lex's eyes lingered on the external underwear for a moment, (who had designed that ensemble, anyway? Donatella Versace?), then his gaze locked on Clark's face, which was slowly turning red. The blush made him look 15 again, and Lex swallowed hard.

"Come on, Luthor," Clark said sternly, holding out a fluffy violet towel. "Let's get you out of here."

"Okay," Lex said, his voice coming out in a whisper. Clark left the bathroom and Lex dried himself quickly. He was dabbing on cologne when Clark returned carrying Lex's black wool pants and the gray sweater.

"Here, hurry up," Clark ordered. "The bomb could go off prematurely. These guys sound like amateurs."

They did? Lex was insulted on behalf of his kidnappers. He drew himself up, preparing to argue the point, then remembered that they were imaginary. He took the clothing and put it on. Clark watched him. He hadn't brought underwear, which was fine with Lex.

"Anything you need to bring?" Clark asked.

"No. How are we getting out of here?" Lex asked.

"Walking," Clark replied. He pointed to the splintered cellar doors, then led the way up the stairs. Lex followed, admiring Clark's ass. He stumbled once and Clark reached back to take his hand. Clark's hand was big and warm. They walked out of the house and stopped in the driveway.

"I'll fly you home," Clark stated. "It's not safe for you here."

And the plan was back on schedule! Lex cheered inwardly. Clark stepped close, letting go of Lex's hand, and put his arms around him. "Hold on tight," he murmured. Lex was planning on it. He wrapped both arms around Clark's neck. Clark swirled his cape so that it covered Lex. "Here we go," he announced, and Lex felt them leave the ground. He was glad he couldn't see, and held tightly to Clark not entirely because it felt so good. He hated flying. Though maybe he could get used to this method.

"Here we are," Clark announced. Lex emerged from the cape, blinking. They were on the penthouse balcony. So Clark knew where he lived. Interesting. Lex went to the glass doors and slid them open. He'd left them unlocked.

"Thank you, Superman," he said. "May I offer you a drink?" He gestured invitingly.

"Sure," Clark said, walking into the penthouse. "Got any Ty Nant?"

"Always," Lex replied, getting two blue bottles from the refrigerator. He threw one to Clark, who caught it deftly. Lex sat on the blue leather sofa. "Sit down," he invited. Clark did, then took a long drink. Lex watched his throat work and swallowed with him. He tried to gather his thoughts. They were pretty easy to gather: Clark. Love. Want. Clark. The question was, what now? He was undone by being so close to Clark after all these years.

Clark drank his water and stared back at Lex. His eyes were blue, and that was jarring. And his hair was slicked back. Lex's hand, taking advantage of his preoccupation, reached out to muss Clark's hair back to its normal unruly state. Damn hand, he thought, until Clark grabbed it and pressed a kiss into the palm, eyes closed. Lex's eyes went wide, then grew hooded as Clark proceeded to lick his fingers, sucking each one into his hot, wet mouth.

Oh, God. Well, that answered the what now question nicely. Lex climbed onto Clark's lap, took his face in both hands, and brushed his lips across the soft, full mouth that haunted his dreams. He felt Clark's hands reach up to cup his head gently, and their mouths opened, tongues introducing themselves. The kiss quickly grew hot and deep, and Lex was gasping when he finally broke it.

"Clark," he rasped, "Clark. I know it's you." Because this had to be Lex and Clark.

"I know you know," Clark replied, drawing Lex down into another life changing kiss. Clark broke it this time, gasping himself. "Bedroom?" he asked, sounding a little unsure. Still Clark.

"God, yes. Now."

~

"Lex," Clark said. They were lying together, naked and sweaty, doing something that Lex vaguely thought might be cuddling. He'd never done it before, but he seemed to have an unexpected talent for it. He snuggled closer.

"Hm?" he asked. He was still preverbal. The only words he'd said for the last fifteen minutes were "Clark" and "yes!" and "harder!" His throat hurt. There might have been screaming.

"You could have just called me, you know," Clark said, stroking his bare scalp tenderly.

"I - huh?"

"Come on, Lex. Kidnappers who leave you with a TV, and all that fancy food, and purple towels? Besides, everyone in Smallville knew the wine cellar was being remodeled."

"They did?" Lex asked, chagrined.

Clark chuckled and kissed his head. "Smallville, remember? It was sweet of you, Lex. All that trouble."

"Sweet?" Lex struggled with this concept. He drew back to look at Clark, frowning.

"Very. But next time, just call, okay?" Clark pulled him back. "Tomorrow, maybe? I'll make dinner."

"Okay." He threw his leg over Clark and pressed against him. "Not sweet, though."

"Whatever you say," Clark said.


End file.
